Diana Kurniawan

May 21, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

The world is raining, Seth, and the sun is not coming out soon, but I know it's there. Like my future, Seth, it seems bleak but I know it's there. I won't think much although I do, and I'm sad to admit, and full of regrets, but I can say that I'm alright right now, this moment, it is itself, enough and for me, no one else. 

 

I went outside about an hour ago and I should have washed my hair and brought shampoo with the rain pouring, but I didn't. It would have been smarter, instead I cried. I looked up letting the rain drop wet my face, and my tears felt warm rolling down slower on my face. I thought about being a writer, and I didn't know a thing. What the hell was I supposed to do, Sethy? I never had a single English class, except for those classes in high school, and you know I dropped out, right. How? By what force? Who's going to tell me how to do this? What the heck am I doing? 

 

I knew how to have sex better than write, that's a fucking truth, Seth. I knew how to make love to Jack and got pregnant then ran away like a loser, but the important stuff....I'm totally shitty with it. I'm all talk. I don't know how to do anything. Feeling stupid right now. I don't know what books to read, what am I supposed to do now? Just pick up a book and say I'm going to be a writer? I'm writing nonsense, my grammar is shitty, and I'm crazy about some guy (you) who doesn't even know I'm alive and the worst of it is....he's a celebrity. I wish you were some computer science geek at GE or something, then you can at least give me discounts on fridges and microwaves. But this....I'm writing nonsense, talking to myself, writing shit, thinking shit, crazy shit like I'm supposed to be a world class writer and such. Who the hell will give me props for believing in myself? I think God is surprised, and you know nothing surprises that guy.

 

So I kept thinking about it and I talked to Joey, and he said, "Well.....one step at a time. You can think it over and try to go to college or something. Isn't that the right step?"

 

"Yeah, I'm going to do that, from New Jersey Community College, and get some big time publisher or agent.....yeah....that sounds reasonable, right Joey?" I said and asked at the same time.

 

"Uh-huh....I think so, right? Does that make you feel good or bad? Tell me," he asked.

 

"HHmmm.....it's okay but I'm not convinced you think I can do it," I told him.

 

"Well....," Joey said, with his eyes scrunched, and he definitely looked stressed. I made Joey stress out, Seth. What kind of friend stresses you out and makes you cry all the time? I'm so sorry for Joey sometimes, but I desperately need him. He walked away for a minute and I had no idea where he went. After five minutes, I was still sitting there, and he came back with an old 1980's walk-man, and it had some kind of tape inside.

 

"This is the only thing I got at the Goodwill store, and I swear to God, it's magic," said Joey.

 

Inside was a tape, and I think it looks like a battery operated walk-man, and I couldn't help it but laughed out loud, "What the hell is this thing? Walk-man, 80's tape deck, and who's in this tape?"

 

"Just listen to it," said Joey.

 

"Is it Madonna?" I asked. Gotta say, I love her.

 

"Nope....just listen," said Joey.

 

I took the headphones with some spongy thingy on the earmuffs stuff. Joey pushed play I think, or some kind of button, and the music came on, "Who is this chick, Joey?"

 

"Janis!" said Joey. "She was an old rock star, but don't blame me for her druggie addiction. I didn't do it," said Joey. "But she's great!"

I listened to her smoky voice and said,"Raise your hand," and I looked to Joey, "and what does that allegorically represent, Joey?"

 

"You gotta start from the bottom, ask questions, get your answers from experts, go to find resources....like the way you're doing now. It's possible," said Joey. "I gotta go pee, I think."

 

I listened to her some more and my head bopped...I like Janis, but with the voice I hear on my ear, she's probably a really tall lady with an electric guitar and dreds. I don't know who this Janis person is, Seth. But, I listened to her whole album and her voice took me to my room, and I sat on my bed as I start to write down next steps. 

 

Either Joey or Janis, they're angels. 

 

I love you, Seth, 

WishesOoohWishes.

 

May 20, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I wrote a little today, Seth. I wasn't sure what to do. I've been in this existential crisis all of my life. I wish my Dad was rich and I was a Princess and my Mom loves me. I haven't hugged my Dad for a very long time. If there was one thing I wished for in life, it's more Dad hugs.

 

I wanted to know what it felt like to have a normal childhood, and a normal high school experience. I kept thinking I should be blamed for everything but that wasn't true. Sister McGeady told me that not everything was under my control. 

 

I wanted to know what it felt like without depression or trauma. My life felt like one giant roller coaster and I was unstable for most of my life. I sometimes wished I did have the baby. I wanted to know what it felt like to be pregnant and have a healthy baby delivery, but that would put me in poverty and my Dad won't be happy. 

 

You know how people look back and they have regrets? I often look forward and I feel hopeless.

 

I had a thought that I would be in deep trenches all of my life, and I even had a nightmare that I would be 46 years old, working retail, not married, no kids, no retirement, and a spinster forever. That was the dream I had, that I was a failure and everyone knew and everyone was happy because they did much better than me in life. I dreamt that I was the loser that everyone labelled and hated. I saw that in my future, and I couldn't help but sob and felt these shattered pieces of my heart crumbling down to the ground, and life as I knew it was over.

 

What would you say to me, Seth? Do you think I still have a future? Do you think I'd be stuck in that rut forever and to be working retail and looking down on myself all the time, because I never amounted to anything? 

 

I now appreciate my Dad so much more, because he never wanted the life he was sentenced and I didn't think it was his fault that he became an alcoholic. I felt he was trying hard and things had a glass ceiling. All the retail workers at WalMart, Target, T-Bell, McDonalds, KFC, Home Depot, who worked their shift for a career in their retail jobs deserved better. I surely hope for each of them to have a family, and to have their situations in life worked out and I asked Sister McGeady to help me lift them up in prayers for miracles to happen. To tell you the truth, I am proud of the retail workers, because they're earning a living and not letting themselves turn to depression or homelessness or wellfare and hand outs. They're working and a lot of them are great at helping others. I love retail workers. They deserve the best things in life. I wished for each of them to be blessed and to prosper and to have the benefits and retirements they deserved. They've earned it and they're working honest jobs. Props to all retail workers.

 

As for me, I got hurt, Seth, and now I'm a part of the statistics. I promised myself to pick myself up. To get out of Covenant House after the therapy was over, and for Sister McGeady and the staff to finish helping me realize my own potential and to give me skills to care for myself. Sometimes I wished for my Dad to give me a pep talk. I miss that so much.

 

Seth, to tell you the truth. I want to write. All of my life, I wrote to someone, and I have been writing to you for at least as long as high school lasted so far. Perhaps my world won't stay the same and I would experience a push from angels. I won't wait for it, I will just keep working. Everything I've enjoyed was a creative art, every fan letter, every poem, every story, and every heartfelt confession. I sure hope to God that this works out for me, and if retail or even T-Bell would be my future, I'd walk the journey.

 

Sister McGeady told me to cut up pictures from old magazines to make a collage for her, of what I want for my life. I took a poster board and cut up pictures of New York, Paris, London, and the ocean. I took pictures of someone's writings, famous books, and cups of tea with cupcakes and some lemon tarts. I pasted them on the poster board and had pictures of a small house and a small dog with me and a picture of my Dad that I pretended I had. On the bottom, I wrote....keep going and keep moving, the world is my oyster. I also wrote...Dad and me, forever.

 

Seth, do you think that's good enough? Or do you think I'd be that 46 years old woman who would be single with no kids and working retail. If I was that woman, would you care for me less?

 

I hope I get to become a writer one day, because that's what I want to be.

 

Praying,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

May 13, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Seth, I figure it was his smile, Jack's, and his puppy dog eyes that got me, but his face and our kisses were inside my dreams. I'm not sure if it should be called a nightmare because he assaulted me, but I'm worried that I won't ever meet anyone who would love me because of the assault. Joey asked me all of these questions and we had a yogurt and milk conversation at the cafeteria after therapy.

 

"Why do you like him?" asked Joey.

 

"He's historical, at least that's what he told me," I answered.

 

"Define historical...who was his Dad?" asked Joey, taking a dollop of yogurt on his spoon into his mouth. "This is all pro-biotic, right. So I'm going to at least fart with this?"

 

"He said his ancestors created the first telescope," I replied. "I think you'd go to the bathroom after three hours at least. Don't worry, you're going to lose weight. We'll make it a goal."

 

"What? He's one of the Three Wisemen from Ancient Middle East?" asked Joey, flabbergasted.

 

"What? I think Jack was part English and the other part Italian," I said.

 

"But......oh okay, are you sure Italians weren't making pasta during that time? It could be true," asked Joey.

 

"He specifically said, TELESCOPE!" I said, frustrated. I was worried and annoyed because I had to rehash what Jack and I spoke about in Breckenridge during our first sexual experience. It was so romantic, the stars were outside and we looked out of the window and he spoke about his ancestors.  "Jack said his ancestor found a meteor and that's how his great great great great great great great great grandfather knew it was going to be epic."

 

"Do you really believe him? I think he was trying to get into your panties," said Joey. "You're blind aren't you?"

 

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

 

"You're pretty, Mary," said Joey. "It would take a special person to be with you, someone with a very attractive personality and charm and heart. But, you've sold yourself to easily."

 

"My Dad is not exactly historical and I work at T-Bell," I answered.

 

"It's the quality, Mary. Not just the money, and I admit, it helps, but girls with bad hearts have money just the same," said Joey. "A lot of them call me Fat Joey and I'd oblige to their name calling and believe it's comedy, but it's bullying. You're not like them. You actually wanted to be my friend."

 

"I'd love you even if you're on a wheelchair," I said. 

 

He took my neck and clenched it and pretended to choke me, and said, "Stop that shit!"

 

"Oh Sorry....just sayin, I'd be your friend even when things are worse," I said. 

 

"YOU'RE HOMELESS!" said Joey. I shrugged my shoulders. He shook his head and finished his yogurt. "Besides, Jack is still a rapist."

 

"An Elite Rapist," I said. 

  

"King David, a King, raped a woman because she took a damn shower. His son, Ammon, or Amsterdam, who was also a King, raped Tamar, and she was just some girl with a bowl of soup. King David later wrote the Psalms, but he got killed and eaten by dogs, and his psycho son got killed by Tamar's brother, Absalom," said Joey. "They will have what's coming. Let me tell you that! And it don't matter who their ancestors were, it's all coming to him."

 

"Wow....you're smart, Joey," I said, in awesome wonder of Joey's biblical knowledge.

 

"Mary, you've gotta get deep therapy and heavy therapy," said Joey. "Do you know there are worse things that could have happened to you? Like being trafficked for a drug cartel for instance. There are crazier things in the world you know. It's the heart that makes a man, not his bloodline."

 

Since that moment on, I realized Joey and I could talk about anything. Not only because he would be honest to me, but also he would be a positive support for my mental health. Truthfully, I've never met anyone who became homeless because he was fat, but Joey told me the truth, he was kicked out by his Mom because she couldn't feed him anymore. It was that brutal.

 

There were other kids with sexual assault and other violence as the primary cause of their circumstances, and I wished I never had to witness it, but it's real, Seth. I was one of the many. 

 

YYYYOOOOUUUGGHHHUUUURRRRTTT,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 14, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Seth, to be honest, I think I'm insane. Who would run away from home? There was a comfortable bed and a fridge with food, although not much, but there were some burritos in there.

 

Some days, I wished I knew what I was doing in life. Other days, I wished I knew if my Mom thought of me when she abandoned me and my Dad. He called this morning and I accepted the call and spoke with him inside the administration office. 

 

"Come home, Mary," he said.

 

"I'm not sure if you really want me as your kid anymore," I replied. 

 

"Why do you think that?" he asked.

 

I was silent. I heard breathing for several minutes, and my Dad finally said, "I will call you back, soon. Just stay chaste and remember your rights and wrongs." He hung up afterwards.

 

Truthfully, I didn't know my Dad knew right from wrong. I felt like I was being the parent and I was helping him straighten things out. I wondered if he thought it was right to drink six beers in three hours after work in the evenings. I wondered if my Dad thought of me when he numbs his pain, and I wondered if my Mom wanted me when she lived in that house with my Dad.

 

I wondered if I was the child they wanted. That's how I felt growing up because my parents faught all the time that I wondered if they really wanted me in the first place, or if I was an accident and they didn't have a choice. I felt like the black cat or the black pig or that white owl that everyone saw and talked about after someone died. 

 

I ended up crying underneath the table, and Sister McGeady came to the help me.

 

"Get up, Mary," she said, her head poking out in my vision.

 

"I don't want to go home," I answered.

 

"You're a smart girl, you can start over and renew your life," she said. "You can stay here as long as you need."

 

No one ever told me I was smart. I had to be homeless to find out I was smart. 

 

"Am I really smart, Sister?" I asked her.

 

"You chose us, instead of drugs, or exploiting yourself, so yes, you're smart. There are worse cases than you," said Sister McGready. 

"Everyone told me that. There are worse things than me. In my world....I am garbage," I said to her, my tears and snot dripping all over my chin.

 

Sister McGeady said something that helped me, Seth, and I never knew this was true, because I thought of Jack when she said it. "No humans can be garbage," said Sister McGready. "Garbage is for dead objects only. Living things, breathing things, humans, animals, and plants cannot be garbage. It's a common misconception."

 

I realized she was right. There was a lift to my shoulders and the burden over my back broke to pieces and evaporated in the air. I felt free and justified to speak to her.

 

She looked into my eyes, and told me something that I realize was true about myself, but I never knew, "Girls have the royal bloodline. Boys cannot have give birth, but girls can. It's boys who needs girls and it's men who need women. From now on, that's the world you live in. You're ROYAL."

 

There was a strength in me, that made me realize I was needed in this world. I was irreplaceable and important, not because I can give birth, but because I felt stronger than Jack. I felt stronger than the rapist. For once, I felt stronger than rape.

 

"I've accidently aborted, Sister McGeady," I confided in her.

 

"I know, but it was the STI that made you do so, it was a choice made for you," she said. 

 

"I still felt hurt and I think it was my fault," I said.

 

"It's not," said Sister McGeady. "You'll have to repeat it over and over again. The trauma is bigger than you right now. You couldn't handle it, but slowly you can heal from it. You have to rely on the system to help you. It wasn't your fault."

 

I didn't realize that there was such a thing as "the system." I still didn't know much in this world. I didn't know about the system, how the system worked, what the system entailed, and how to help myself with it and through it.

 

"Such things as healthcare, well being, mental health, stability, financial freedom, and so many things isn't in the radar of any teens, and teens aren't known to have the knowledge at these points in life," said Sister McGeady. "Age makes a big difference. You are too young to handle the level of sexual relationship you had. There wasn't enough guidance involved, and your mind and emotions didn't grow as mature yet to handle that. Then there was the trauma, your body was too young. I don't blame you at all. It wasn't your fault."

 

"Is this all my Dad's fault?" I aked. "I don't want to blame him for everything, and I already blame him for his addiction. And it was Jack who raped me."

 

"I want to make sure you're going to learn while you're here," said Sister McGeady. "Not only about unconditional love, but of a life that's perhaps new, out of the box, fresh, and safe."

 

"I want to learn, Sister," I told her. She nodded, and wrote a number, one million, on a piece of paper.

 

Seth, I wish you could see her, in her jeans and sweater, Sister McGeady was magical.

 

 

Going on a field trip,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 10, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I wished no one would judge me. Ever since I was little since my Mom left me, I felt like the whole world has been judging me. It felt that way because I think no one cared about my behavior, and I had to be the good girl to help raise my Dad. He was just a kid too, I think.

 

My Dad looked lost most of the time and I felt lost all the time with him. We talked about rent, making ends meet since I was young. We weren't always at the house. We moved several times from one apartment to another. We've never really owned any townhome or a house. We just called every place our "house." We liked to pretend we owned it, although I saw my Dad sold his guitar, his leather jacket, his watch, his radio and his bicycle to pay the bills. Ever since I saw my Dad did that, I didn't want to feel like his ball and chain, or his debt to God. I wanted to pull my own weight, so I worked as soon as I could.

 

Seth, the judging thing....I wondered why I felt this way. Joey said he didn't care if people judged him for his weight. He said, "Judgements are comfort for the judge, not the victim. We have to stop caring." I'm not made like him. I cared too much about what other people think because I've been so self conscious since I'm not made normal, with a normal house, normal family, normal upbringing, normal mental health. I felt like judgements fueled me to keep working, and when I spoke with Joy, she said, "So you always wanted to impress everyone to feel like one of the 'normal' people or the accepted person?"

Seth, you know what my answer was. If you were in my shoes, what would you do, Sethy? Even in writing, I wanted to impress you, even when you're not even here. That's how bad it got.

 

Joy told me that we were going to start on Crisis Intake Plan, and to walk down my goal plans, and my journeys, my hopes, my fears, my therapies and my desires to heal. I never thought that far. I just always wanted to please Jack, or actually, whoever paid attention to me at the time.

 

The rest of the time with Joy, during therapy, she told me a story.

 

The story was about a man with an old couch. Joy said this man always stopped by 7-11 and bought himself a soda with his dollars, and he'd put his change insde his pockets. He never took care of himself and just kept drinking sodas, eating junk from 7-11. He'd pass out on his couch while watching television every night, and often his coins would fall out, but he didn't care. He left all of his coins that fell out of his pockets inside the couch. 

 

One day, a kid next door came by wanting to sell some chocolates for his middle school fundraiser. The man said, "Sorry, kid. I need the money for myself." And the kid almost cried because it was his middle school fundraiser and he wanted to win a prize.

 

"Please, sir. Have you checked your couch. Maybe you have some loose change somewhere in the couch?"  The man had on a dirty shirt, untucked, with soda stains and Cheetos in his hair. He replied to the kid, "Sure, I'll go search for some change. Be right back," and so he searched for change, and of course, he found A LOT of change. 

 

He found Quarters, Silver Dollars, Dimes, Nickels, that some parts of the couch were hard because the coins were many and the couch was old. He said, "Oh my Lord, I'm actually rich!" 

 

The kid smiled, and said, "You are, you're just putting your money in the wrong places." The man looked to the kid, and said, "You know what, kid. I'm going to change, no pun intended, but I'm gonna."

 

"But, I hope you haven't forgotten about the chocolates that I'm selling," said the kid. 

 

"No, I won't forget because you made me look for change, that I realized I've wasted all of my monies and time on this couch when I could have saved up, cleaned up, changed up, shape up, and become rich," said the man. He gave the kid, $10 dollars but didn't take any chocolates, instead, he closed the door, showered, changed his clothes, and tried to find a job. 

 

Joy said that the point of the story was, that the man realized his potential, although he lost all those coins inside his own couch, it could have been worse, he could've lost his life from heart attacks, or getting shot at 7-11 when he was getting some Coca-Cola. But, because of the eye of the innocent, he saw the truth, and he was rich. Rich with potential, rich with the future, and rich with his possibilities. He had what a lot of people didn't have. 

 

I supposed, I was that way too. I supposed, even with the abortion, the assault, the low income, and the bipolar depression, I had something of worth inside of me that I didn't see before. 

 

I'm going to find out,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

May 12, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Yesterday, Joy and I took a walk with Joey and Jenna. Jenna was raped when she was little. Seth, is 17 considered young to be a rape victim? How old can a rape victim be, Sethy? How young is young to be raped, and how old is old to be raped? 

 

Jenna was 10. I thought that was pretty young, don't you think? She said her Dad sold her to his friends to get some drugs. She used to live with him, but she was always spending nights at other men's homes to pay for her Dad's debt. She told me that one time she had her period and a man still had sex with her, until she was pregnant, and later on, she had an abortion. 

 

I realized that some lives are worth saving, like Jenna's. Although she was hurt so bad, but like we talked about before, her potential was great, because she kept on living, and I gave her credit for that. I think that was the point that Joy, Joey and Jenna wanted me to understand, that I needed to keep going. 

 

If there was a time when I felt small, it was this time with Jenna. It's not that she made me feel worthless, but she made me realize that I was one form of assault victim, but a power of one amongst many to survive the trauma. I mean, there are so many victims that we're not alone, but because of that, I was suppposed to be powerful to survive the trauma with them. Do you get what I mean, Seth? It's truly not as complicated as Drunk Uncle. Sometimes, I don't understand him.

 

"What made you think that you've had the worst life, so far, Mary?" asked Jenna.

 

"I feel like I've killed a baby," I said.

 

"Was it your decision?" asked Jenna.

 

"Yes, it was to save myself," I said. I felt like the selfish loser, and an idiot who won't ever deserve to be a Mother again.

 

"I did the same," said Jenna.

 

I was flummoxed and my mouth gaped open. 

 

"You didn't think I was barren while I was being trafficked, did you?" said Jenna. "Do you know how many women get abortions each year?"

 

I was silent. If I had a choice, it was to NEVER have an abortion. If I had a choice, I NEVER wanted to be raped. 

 

Joy finally broke the silence, "It is always a case by case situation, Mary," she said. I didn't understand Joy. "I thought it was pro-life or pro-choice. I felt pro-wrong," I said.

 

Joey pointed to the building we were passing by, "Look at the windows in this building, they are so huge," he said. "Do you think rich people get abortions? What made them do it? And do they live in this building?"

 

Joy looked up, and said, "I don't judge a woman on abortion. Whether she choses to keep or abort the baby. I choose to love her, especially if it's a case of abuse or biological anomalies."

 

"I wished I didn't do it," I said. 

 

"It was the thing that saved me," said Jenna. 

 

"I choose to not blame the woman for it, so I choose to not blame you, Mary, for saving yourself," said Joey. "If there was a place who could save your baby, such as adoption, I would have brought that up to you too."

 

"I didn't want to make another orphan in this world," I said. "I didn't want a reminder of Jack's rape in my life."

 

"I choose to love you,, Mary," said Joy. "I would never blame a woman on that. I've never been pregnant and I've never been in your shoes."

 

"It was the thing that saved me," said Jenna, her eyes in tears. "I couldn't survive knowing I bore a child from the human trafficking."

 

"I still felt wrong," I said.

 

"One day, you will right the wrong," said Joey. "It's not penance, but transformation. Perhaps you will adopt or have your own child. And even if you don't, you can help women in these tough situations."

 

"It was the thing that saved me," said Jenna. "I wanted to end my life, although I was bearing a human life from the assault."

 

"If I was a teen pregnancy case, I might choose differently," I said. "Or, if I was rich, I might choose differently."

 

"If you were a teen pregnancy case, I choose to love you as a teen Mom, and if you decide to abort, I would love you as a woman," said Joy. "Some people say that it is a right or wrong choice, but that's too extreme. It has to be a case by case basis. If a woman can still have the child, she would realize her world will change drastically and will physically need to work on it. If a woman decides to abort, she has to realize her mental health and spirit will be changed drastically and she will have to heal from it. It's a matter of which of the two you're capable of, and it is a case by case basis."

 

"It was the thing that saved me," said Jenna, and by this time, her sobs needed tissues, and she added, "It was at the point of when the baby lives, I will die, and there was no one to take care of either of us."

 

 

Joey's eyes were in tears, as he said, "I've never realized the suffering all women carried in life, even as little girls, teens and later on, as women. And here I am, just sad because I'm fat and homeless."

 

"We can't always blame everything on Eve. Like rape for instance," said Jenna.

 

"I just wished more men were responsible and kind," I said. "So women didn't have to bear all of the suffering of childbirth. The world needs more compassionate men."

 

Joey wiped his tears, and said, "I'm gonna need some chocolate cake later. And then I'll send a prayer request to Sister McGeady for true love for everyone." 

 

Joy and I laughed, and Jenna hugged Joey around his stomach. We walked nearly six miles just talking about righting the wrongs we've done, and if we would ever get into heaven. But, I just knew that I won't make a good Jesus.

 

I wonder if God forgives me, Seth,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

April 30, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Seth, I never knew being homeless was this rough. I thought it would be camping outside, under the stars, and the occasional commando toileting in the alleys of New York, but I was naive and dumb. I wanted to get out of the house because my Dad called me a slut, but I think God was looking out for me. 

 

The Police Officer who I met at the 9/11 Memorial building took me to the station, and got me cab to meet Sister Mary McGeady at Covenant House a couple days ago. I was anticipating a nun, but I got some lady who said he was a counselor when I got there at close to 9 pm.

 

"Maria, is it?" she said. She had glasses on that looked too big for her eyes and nose bridge. She looked young, with streaks of copper and blonde highlights on her black hair. 

 

"Yes, I'm Maria. The NYPD sent me here," I said.

 

"I know. I'm happy they sent you here. I didn't want to see you get arrested for sleeping in restricted areas. The building you slept in weren't designed for the homeless. It was built to commemorate the fallen," she said. "Josey, that's my name."

 

"Thank you, Josey," I said. Her voice was soft as she enunciated every word perfectly. "You're not from around here, are you? Are all New Yorkers as nice as you?"

 

Josey smiled, and told me, "I'm from Jersey, and I went to school in the Midwest, Wyoming, actually. I'm a peer-counselor."

 

I nodded, and my backpack felt so heavy and my stomach growled as I tried to move my hands over my belly to hide my embarrassment.

 

"You're starving. Let's go to the cafeteria," said Josey. "You'll meet new friends there. It's also a sort of coffee place and a study hall place for group work."

 

"Thank you," I said. 

 

The cafeteria was a large dining hall with just long tables like in high school, and a kitchen.

 

"I was told Sister McGeady will meet me," I asked.

 

"She's already home, and she might join us tomorrow, but she's been ill lately, so we might not get to see her until later on during your stay here," said Josey.

 

I looked to my hands and felt dirty and wanted badly to wash myself. On top of feeling hungry, I wanted to meet Sister McGeady because perhaps I would be forgiven for the wrongs I've done.

 

"The one who is in you, is greater than he who is in this world," said Josey.

 

I looked to her, and my eyes mist into tears, and I asked her, "I'm filthy, why do you think my insides are still great?"

 

"You're not filthy in my eyes," said Josey. "Everyone deserves second chances. You deserve yours."

 

"I'm so scared," I told her. My thoughts were full of fears. I haven't taken my meds, and I don't have any meds anymore. Everything I had was in my backpack. 

 

"Let's get you something to eat, and I want you to meet someone," said Josey.

 

We walked towards the back corner of the cafeteria and a young man was sitting at the last chair with his belly over his jeans, and his cheeks red. His brown eyes were forthcoming, and he opened his arms to me, expecting a huge hug.

 

"Will you be my friend?" he said.  

 

I looked at his face and his husky body, large and sort of obese. Actually, he was obese.

 

"Everyone has a different walk, Mary," said Josey. She pulled out a chair next to the young man and sat down. "Meet Joey."

 

"I'm Fat Joey," he said. He laughed and looked into my eyes that were moist. I didn't want to repeat what he said, because I didn't want to call him Fat Joey.

 

"Okay...okay....just Joey," he said. "I was just joking."

 

I offered a hand shake and he got up and walked around the table and hugged me, gently. "I don't want to squish you," he said. His smile made me smile, and he poked his stomach and started to giggle. "Marshmallow man!" he said. "Get it! Ghostbusters!!"

 

I laughed with him, and remembered the iconic movie. I loved Ghostbusters.

 

"My Mom kicked me out of the house because I was fat. She didn't know how jolly I can be. I make other kids laugh, even with the depression I have," said Joey.

 

My tears began to peek out again, as I wiped my eyes out of the thought of how kind Joey was being and how cruel his Mom was to him.

 

"We were poor," said Joey. "My Mom couldn't feed all of us and I was always eating most of the foods."

 

"I hate your Mom," I told him. "You're such a wonderful friend already."

 

"Mary, we want to show you something," said Josey.

 

Joey walked back to his chair, and took out a piece of paper with a drawing on it. It has words written down, "Welcome, Maria. We will make you feel at home," it said.

 

"I made it. I was told to make you smile tonight, but I didn't do that, yet," said Joey.

 

I smiled at him, and gave him a huge hug. 

 

"Ooooh, you smell funny, Mary," said Joey.  I laughed out loud.

 

"She will shower in her room in the girls hall," said Josey. "For now, let's get her some chicken pot pie, and we've got to let her just enjoy her dinner. Mary, you can shower afterwards."

 

"Thank you, Josey," I said.

 

A woman with an apron walked to the table and gave me a tray of a chicken pot pie and some fries on a plate, with a glass of milk next to it and chocolate pudding. "Her name is Maria, too, Maria. Oh wow...this might get confusing," siad Josey.

 

"You can call me M, like in 007," said Maria, the woman wearing an apron. 

 

"Nice!" said Joey, and he clapped. "You'll get to know Maria, Maria. She loves movies, and she can give you a quote of a movie and we'll have to guess where it's from."

 

"Oh wow....I never knew anyone who can do that," I said.

 

"Oh, I kid you not," said Maria. 

 

"Is that from a movie, Maria?" asked Josey.

 

"No," said Maria. "But, if I would have said 'I shit you not' then it would have been from The Rock, that film on Alcatraz Island."

 

"Holy moly," said Joey. "See....she's like Bollywood Jeopardy."

 

"I know Saturday Night Live," I said. "I can impersonate any of the characters on the sketches."

 

"SNL sucks!" said Maria.

"WHAT?!" I said, surprised. "I write to Seth Meyers almost every night!"

 

"You're nuts," said Joey. "But, you should send him those letters."

 

"Maybe we can do that later," said Josey. "Let's let Maria eat and have some sleep."

 

"We've got a lot of adventures to come," said Joey. "We can walk everywhere. I gotta lose weight."

 

"Pace with him," said Maria. 

 

"Thank you, Joey. I can't wait to spend some time here," I said.

 

The night proved to be one of the most endearing bonding moment in my lifetime. Seth, I never knew Covenant House was this kind, and I never knew it was here. I was lucky that I wasn't harmed the way some of the children of the night were, as I knew from the past and from stories of other highschoolers who knew of so and so who ran away and got trafficked. I was about done when I walked out of my house, and I thought my life would be short. But, having Covenant House and Joey, Josey and Bollywood Maria, made me realize there were good people in this world. Jack wasn't one and he didn't love me, but I never knew there were so many others who loved me. Tonight, I felt the hand of God.

 

Hoping I found my help,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 1, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

There was an ambulance early this morning, and I woke up from the noise of the girls outside talking loudly. 

 

"She just had it," said a brunette with her puffy eyes. "I didn't know she would do it, but she did."

 

"What is going on?" I asked her.

 

"A girl wanted to run away and the staff told her she couldn't so she took all her meds," said the brunette. "I'm Geraldine, but you can call me, Pillow."

 

"Pillow, why Pillow?" I asked her.

 

"That's what this guy used to call me and it just got stuck," said Geraldine.

 

"May I just call you Geraldine?" I asked, politely.

 

"I guess so, but everyone, and I do mean everyone, calls me Pillow. It's because I'm a comforter."

 

"I would prefer to call you Geraldine," I said.

 

She smiled at me, and told me, "The ambulance will take good care of her, and you won't turn out like her."

 

I nodded, as some strands of my hair fell to the side of my face and I tucked it behind my ears.

 

"Why are you here? What's your name?" asked Geraldine. "You must have came after hours. We turn off the lights at 8 in the evenings, every night."

 

"Mary, or Maria, I ran away and was arrested by the 9/11 Memorial building," I replied,

 

"What happened to you?" asked Geraldine.

 

"Rape, my ex-boyfriend did it," I said, my eyes low.

 

"All of us here were raped once or more before. It's common," said Geraldine.

 

I looked around me and all the girls gave me a smile. They were all of different races and mostly teens and some were a little older, but mostly about my age. It felt bittersweet, knowing I wasn't alone, but I didn't want the things that I had to endure to happen to us. I didn't want my life to happen to someone else.

 

"All of these girls?" I asked, my head turned to Geraldine. She nodded, and said, "Girls...what do you think?"

 

Some of the girls also nodded, and some waved at me. Seth, I didn't know it was this common. I wondered if there were so many versions of Jack in America. How many of them were there? Why did they do this to us?

 

"You're not alone," said Geraldine. 

 

"It's a horrible way to find out," I said. I covered my eyes and realized that most of the girls in my hall now were once raped or violated by someone even worse than just a boyfriend. Perhaps it was their Dad, brother, cousin, uncle or someone random who hurt them, but we all had something in common, we were girls not yet women, and we didn't know what to do.

 

"Stay here, until you get better. The peer advisors will help you," said Geraldine. "Are you in school?"

 

"I dropped out," I said. 

"You can get into the education program here," said Geraldine. "Don't run away this time. Do your parents know you ran away?"

 

"I don't know if my Dad knows," I said. "He's an alcoholic."

 

"All good girls finish best," said Geraldine. "You're a good girl. Be kind to yourself."

 

I didn't finish talking to Geraldine, but I knew that there were stories to every soul who occupied the rooms about me. I wasn't the only lost soul and the only weary heart that came to this place. I wanted to say to myself that I was strong, but I felt so weak and I felt so scared. I supposed God sent me here, without knowing. Maybe my high school buddies were right, maybe somethings do work out when you work hard enough.

 

Seth, I would never know if you'd care for me, and I would never know if you'd appreciate me if I was a run away and if I was a survivor. I won't know if you'd be scared of me, because I was trying to stalk you at the Rockefeller Center. I really wanted to meet you, and ask you to help me with a pep-talk and to reason on my behalf, but I won't ever know if that would happen. All I knew right now was that I was no longer alone and I met those of the same circumstances, and we were not happy. Seth, I wish you could tell me a story that would make me laugh, and make all of us laugh. I could always pray.

 

I'm forever your girl,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 2, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I didn't get out of my room. I stayed here after breakfast. I had cereal, with flax seed with six grams of fiber. Won't be enough to get me to the toilet, but not joking. I didn't leave my room. 

 

I stayed in my room for lunch, too. There was just a bed and I signed up to go to the computer room, but I'm considered crisis intake youth, considering how I was just homeless a couple days ago and got arrested. I guess that made me a crisis. 

 

You know how people know where to go when they got off the elevator? Mine keeps going up and down and my mood swings from side to side and it's mostly low to the ground in drastic mode, and when the elevator door opens, I suddenly forgot what I was doing. It's no wonder my Dad didn't want me to drive. I never drove, and I didn't have a car. I walked everywhere. Even with my money from T-Bell. It was barely enough to make the rent and the bills.

 

I wish I could talk to you, and ask you to help me. I wished you truly was a big brother of mine, and someone who cared for me. I probably wouldn't be this way if I wasn't the only child, but it felt alone most of the time, and I had no one to confide in. I used to talk to Jack and Mabel but I mostly wanted a man to help me. I looked up to my Dad, but he was barely there. 

 

Don't get me wrong, I loved that he worked at Target and made ends meet with me at our little home, but I wished he didn't drink so much. I wished for so many things. I wished I never worried about what other people would say, and what Mabel would tell others. I trusted Sam, but he wasn't cool, Seth. Jack was cool, and I looked at their appearance more than their hearts. I got in trouble because of it.  Is your heart good, Seth? 

 

I used to watch these shows on the television, as much as I watched SNL, but I wondered if they really were good enough to be on the shows or if they hurt someone to get there. Did you ever screw someone over in modeling or back stab someone?  I thought about Jack and how he will get on in his life. I couldn't handle my tears at the thought of him walking on graduation, being loved by his parents, then going to college and meeting someone else, and getting on with his big life and who knows...at my luck, he'd end up at SNL or even another acting gig and become famous. What would you say to someone like me at my position, Seth?

 

I didn't get out of my room because I would walk out there in the world as the loser. The teen pregnancy case that aborted because she asked for the rape. What would anyone say to me? How was I supposed to fix this now? My life ends here, I think.

 

I want to go end it,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 3, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I ate cereal again with six grams of fiber. I ate the same cereal and if I added up all the fibers, I might as well take Dulcolax, but the strange thing is, I'm only urinating, and not anything else. Sorry, Seth, it's not like you'd like to know, but I guess that was a dirty joke from a girl on Bipolar Depression.

 

I stayed alive, and today I sat near the television but only stared at it. I couldn't do anything except write on these journals. My peer counselor asked me if I would ever want to go back to school to major in English. I told her, "If I'm still alive, probably."

 

I've been writing on my existensial mood swings all of my life and that's all I know how to do. Aren't English Majors, also Literature Majors? Aren't they supposed to read? Well.....I haven't really read. I've read trashy magazines that Dad had under the sink. But the writing is all shitty and some were supposed to be from world class writers, but they all write narcisist so well that I could only look at the nude pictures and adds. 

 

Forget it, Seth. I was never born to write. I'm a shitty writer, too. My life IS shit.

 

Shitty life, Mary,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

 

May 5, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I took my meds, that's all I remembered for today.

 

Medicated, Mary,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 6, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Joey pounded on my door, and I was really upset. He told me that the peer counselor has been asking me to get out and I missed my appointments with her. I told Joey, "I'm in crisis.....forever."

 

"That's not allowed," said Joey. His belly somehow closed the distance between us, and I was pretty sure our faces were about three feet apart. Anyway, he's big, and I looked at myself, and I felt big, too.

 

"You're new. You have to obey the rules, besides staying in your room and resting. There is a whole world outside. Let's go," said Joey.

 

I couldn't do anything else but cry and tears just kept flowing. I didn't want to go outside. Everyone had a compass in life, and I had an abortion. I had no assets, and nothing to live for. I felt like a loser and I didn't want anything else to do other than just sleep it off. I had a comfortable bed now and since I'm in crisis, I will just sleep here and not get out. Not write to anyone but you, Seth. 

 

"You have to do something else. Get out of that head or yours," said Joey.

 

"I'm comfortable here," I replied. It was true. It was all that I knew how to do, Seth. Write to you, write what I know and it's all the shitty things in life and not get out of the world inside my head. It helps me cope and it helps me to be safe. I was becoming a hermit, but who the fuck cares? I killed a fetus, and unborn child, because I asked for the rape. I had a choice and I was pro at it, but it wasn't my fault but it felt like it was all my fault. What would you say to me, Seth? What the fuck was I supposed to do now?

 

I saved myself but lost my soul,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 7, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

My peer counselor came to my room this early morning, and she told me to shower first and eat breakfast then to go for a walk with her. Her name is Joy.

 

"The first thing that happened to you, the first trauma," she asked.

 

"My Mom left," I answered. 

 

"Good. What's it like?" asked Joy.

 

"She hates us. It was her way out to get out of town," I said.

 

"Did you hear her say this?" asked Joy.

 

"No, but why would she leave?" I said.

 

"Was your Dad loyal?" asked Joy.

 

"As far as I know," I said.

 

"But you never asked him what happened?" asked Joy.

 

"She just disappeared, and never came home," I answered. "It's been like this since middle school."

 

"That was just a few years ago," said Joy. "You're 16? 15?"

 

"17," I said. "I tell people I'm 21."

 

"You look 12," said Joy. 

 

I frowned. I hated Joy.

 

"You think all girls and women are mean?" asked Joy. "Or is that leading"

 

"They can be bitches," I said. "Irresponsible. I felt like I had to parent my Dad because my own Mom didn't want to take care of us."

 

"I see," said Joy. "What about your Dad? Is he okay?"

 

"He drinks," I answered.

 

"Did anything wrong happen? Abuse? Hitting, or did he ever hurt you at all?" asked Joy.

 

"No, he's too drunk when he gets home. His friend Sam is always with him, but he's passed out, too," I said. 

 

"You're lucky Sam and your Dad didn't hurt you," said Joy. "Alcohol changes you."

 

"My Dad has a temper, but I wasn't hurt. I just worked a lot, and when I was little, I used to go in my room and wrote on my diary or watched tv by myself," I said. "Especially on Saturday Nights."

 

"What would you watch on television?" asked Joy.

 

"Re-runs of old shows, I love Lucy, Friends, and SNL on Saturday Nights," I said.

 

"Is that the journal you have?" asked Joy.

 

"I'm writing it inside my head and on these papers on real time," I answered.

 

"Okay....," said Joy. She shook her head and said, "SNL is a bit older for you."

 

"I like Seth Meyers," I said. (Seth.....I'm only 17, but my heart is 45).

 

The rest of the time with Joy was answers and questions about my Dad. I supposed it was where Jack came in, for my yearning for male attention. Joy didn't need to ask me more because I said, "I wanted to own my own love. Something irreplacable. Unlike my Mom."

 

"I'm sorry, Mary," said Joy. "I wished I knew why men rape."

 

"I still love my Dad. I just got scared that he would hit me and raped me that night when he got angry," I answered.

 

"He called," said Joy. "He asked me if it would be okay for him to talk to you?"

 

"How did he know I was here?" I asked. 

 

"The Police Department called his house, because they found your ID, and found out your Dad was home. They told him," said Joy. "Don't be scared. Your Dad sounded kind. We will supervise your visit."

 

"I want to stay here," I said.

 

"You can stay," said Joy. "Especially if there is alcohol abuse inside your home."

 

"Thank you, Joy," I said. 

 

"I think we can still walk outside and get some air," said Joy. "Want to get lunch, later?"

 

"I'd like that," I answered.

 

"Let's go to Be-wich-ed," said Joy. Be-wich-ed is a sandwich shop nearby here, Seth. If you've never been there, you should go because I got myself a tuna sandwich and it was delicious.

 

The rest of the time with Joy was walking down memory lane, the first time I fell down, the first kiss with Jack, and some talks about SNL and how you were never really on any sketches or I felt you looked incognito in all of them, until Weekend Update. Joy said she liked you, too, but she said you will most likely be married within a couple of years. Well, ...since it's 2010, I'll just count my blessings on having you in my heart and at the tip of my pen each night. Until then, Sethy. I supposed with Joy as my peer-counselor, I have so much to work through.

 

Somewhat making sense today,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 24, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I lost my senses of space and time, but I knew it was April and it was the last few weeks of it. The last time I wrote to you, I had $500 in my wallet and took out all of it from the mac machine, and I met a girl at a train station who told me that she would help me. I told her if she has a sofa for me to crash in, and she told me it was okay and she lived alone.

 

We went to her apartment in Greenwich Village and it was a nice place with a nice entrance with a gate and she had a window facing a sandwich shop. She told me she wanted me to go to a local hospital and get checked in, but she can't help me further after that. I didn't want to go, and all I wanted was to go to the Rockefeller Plaza and meet you. 

 

She told me that it wasn't far and I asked her if she would be able to help me. She then asked me if she knew anyone there, and of course I said I would love to know all of the SNL cast. She asked if I was a writer and I told her that I had a working journal of you with all of my experiences. She asked me to read it and I gave it to her and she told me that this was valuable. I was wondering what she meant about that, and it turns out that she was a writer. Her name was Jamila.

 

Jamila worked for some offshore magazine in London she said, and she gets to work remotely because she is covering fashion. I believed her and judging on how her apartment looked, it was nice and I presumed she earned her monies from that job well. 

 

Long story short, I slept over on her couch and the next morning she gave me an everything bagel and cream cheese. I thought everything was okay but she asked me if she can read this journal. I told her that it was private and she offered to edit it and turn it into a book. Inside my chest was a pounding anxiety that was peeking out in twitches on my face.

I didn't want her to read it. 

 

"But I let you stay and you were homeless at the train station," Jamila said. "It's the least you could do."

 

"It's private and I'm not trying to turn it into a book. It's a private journal and it's not about you, how would you fit into the picture of the book if you were to write it? I'm not comfortable," I told her.

 

"Just let me read it. I won't do anything," Jamila said.

 

"Promise you won't sell it?" I said.

 

"Promise, and as a matter of fact, I will still edit it if you'd like," said Jamila.

 

So I gave her this large notebook journal type of thing with lined pages inside full of writings and scribbles and there was a penciled caricature of you in a big heart with an arrow, and of course, Alexi's name was on your shirt. I found out several days ago that you're dating. I'm okay with it.

 

Jamila read some of the pages and she nearly cried. "These are really good," said Jamila. "You should really think about becoming a writer."

 

My eyes became moist and I began to cry because all I wanted to write about was about Jack and my heartbreaks and how I was assaulted. "I'm poor and my Dad is an alcoholic," I replied.

 

"Let me do something with this," said Jamila.

 

"You promised, you won't hurt me," I said.

 

"Let me bring this to my editor and we'll talk," said Jamila.

 

"I am the author of it," I said.

 

"I can help you," said Jamila.

 

So I let her take the journal and she said she will be back in the evening after work. I waited and waited and she came back about 8 in the evening, and I was so worried she stole my journal. 

 

"I want to publish this and we can co-author," said Jamila.

 

"It's mine, and it's worth my life," I said.

 

She persisted to tell me that her editor wanted the book and it can be published in England and it would be an offer I can't refuse but the author would be Jamila and I was second author, but that's not what I wanted to do with my life at this time. I wanted to meet you.

 

"Let me pay you for staying here," I said.

 

"You can't afford this place," said Jamila.  "Just work with me on the journal and we call it even."

 

"You're a swindler," I told her. My chest was pounding and I could feel my blood rising. I knew it would take work for this journal to become a reality but I wasn't about to let someone else take control of it. It was my journey. I was the author of this life.

 

"You're homeless. You will get beat up in a couple of days and no one will save you. With me, you'll get second author," said Jamila.

 

I took my wallet and gave her $100.

 

"All of it," said Jamila.

 

"What do you mean?" I said. 

 

"How much do you have in there?" asked Jamila. "I could call the cops on you, right now and send you to a mental psych ward," said Jamila.

 

"Please don't, I thought you were nice," I said.

 

"I was, and I offered you a deal that you shouldn't refuse," said Jamila.

 

"I can only give you $100," I said.

 

"All of it, however much you have in your wallet, and get the fuck out of here," said Jamila.

 

"I don't have much," I told her. I took out another $100, and she pushed me down and kicked my waist and took my wallet and all the money inside it. She then took my backpack and threw it outside the window. 

 

"Get the hell out of here, and leave your journal here," said Jamila.

 

I wanted to punch her face and I was about to, when she took my punch and she pushed my face and kicked me again and took my journal and I grabbed it away from her, and told her, "This belongs to me, and don't hurt me. I didn't do anything," I screamed.

 

"Bitch, get the hell out of here, and give me your wallet, of I'll call the cops for breaking and entering," said Jamila.

 

I knew the cops won't believe the homeless girl, so I took my journal and left her apartment as she slammed the door on my face and I walked out and took my backpack and left Greenwich Village. I didn't know where I was when I left, but I knew that the sandwich shop was across the street. 

 

I told the guy at the sandwich shop and he said, "You're dumb. You should have kicked her ass. You're out of luck."

 

I just lost my cool and started screaming at him, "You bastard! I just told you that I was hurt and you called me names, you asshole!"

 

He then got out of the counter line and told me, "You need to get out or I'll call the cops and I'll have you sent to jail for disturbing an establishment and harassing me."

 

I cried and ran out with my backpack with the journal on my chest, and walked to a nearby wall around the corner. I just sobbed. This all happened in the span of two days and I just wanted to end my life. 

 

But, the whole time, the bitch writer's words lingered in my head, "You should really think about becoming a writer." For some reason I took it as a lesson to not trust anyone, and to not trust even the kindest soul who told you to trust them. If a person was to be trusted, they would earn it and they'd show they are worthy of trust. I found out. They won't say, Trust me, I'm trustworthy. But, it was too late. I lost all of my savings to save my journal and my dignity and myself. I would rather "die that to have the bitch publish it under her name. This journey was mine and mine alone. I was the author of my life.

 

 

 

April 26, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Sorry for the long break. I needed it. It felt like a couple of days had gone by, but as I said, I lost my senses of space and time because everything was about numbers and years and times and I just hate it. I just wanted to be lost in space, but then I'd be a space cadet, so I decided to take another break from writing to you just to recollect my mind.

 

I walked by the 9/11 memorial and it was already built. I slept on the bridge of it, where it connects to the street. I figured it was monitored and a lot of people always walked by, so I took a six hour nap there and it was freezing but I had my jacket and used my backpack as a pillow. An officer walked by and woke me up. 

 

"You're mighty young to be sleeping on the street," said the Police Officer. "Can we talk for a minute?"

 

"I'm sorry officer, I didn't want to be home anymore. I was asaulted," I said. 

 

"By a parent? Your dad?" he asked. I looked at his eyes and he looked kind, a tall black man with big eyes, a little on the husky side.

 

"No, it was an ex-boyfriend. My Dad is an alcoholic. He doesn't know I'm here," I said. 

 

"Come with me for a minute and we'll get you settled in, I won't do anything. I just need to help you get off the street," he said. 

 

"If you know of a shelter or a place to stay, officer. I'd stay there," I said. 

 

"Why are you holding that book to your chest like that?" asked the officer.

 

"This is my SNL journal," I said. "I write to Seth Meyers almost every day."

 

"Ooooohhhhh.....Saturday night live," he said. "I see.....you're a huge fan I see."

 

"Since I was little, officer. Do you know Seth?" I asked him, hoping he would take me to officially become a guest to the Rockefeller Plaza and finally become an SNL audience.

 

"No, of course not," he said, with a smile. "You know....they're real people, and they have real lives. But, I don't think they'd let anyone to be their friends. They're sort of....celebrities."

 

I felt my eyes drooped down and faced the asphalt. I knew my dreams of the SNL cast as the nicest people on Earth was probably out of reach and perhaps unreal. I should have known that you were all celebrities and won't meet homeless teens like me who was crazy and probably mentally depressed.

 

"If I can get you a place to stay, would you come with me? It will be at a teen shelter or something like that," said the officer.

 

"Yeah, I would come with you," I said. 

 

"Good, let's get you to a safer place," he said.

 

I took my backpack and my journal, although my dreams of meeting you, Seth Meyers, was no longer within reach, I was willing to give survival a try.

 

 

 

April 27, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I haven't watched SNL for a very long time. Weeks and months since I was assaulted and last night, I slept in the Police Station that was smaller than most, and it felt like a small shop rather than a police station. Everyone of every kind came in, and sat on the bench next to me. A man with a squirrel and a big bite mark on his face sat down and I had to step aside because his pet looked like it was infested with rabies. I never knew squirrels were pets.

 

A prostitute came in with her pumps and red stockings and see through dress. She wore that underwear that showed your butt. It must be very uncomfortable. And a man in his cowboy outfit without pants was standing handcuffed to his girlfriend both in their underwear were standing in front of the administration desk. They must have had a costume party somewhere and I was not invited. I won't come with them if I were invited, because they smelled like a joint and it stinks like a skunk.

 

I still didn't know what day it was and the officer who took me, came back several times and told me, "Just sit tight, and I'll be back."

 

He finally came back with some paper work. He gave me a paper with a printout of a map directions and he showed me a place for girls. It was Covenant House. It was on 41st Street, and I was supposed to go there. 

 

"I'll get you a cab and I'll get you the fare. Just don't wander around but just go straight there, and meet Sister Rose McGeady," said the officer.

 

"Sister McGeady, ... a nun?" I asked. 

 

The officer smiled, and said, "Yes. But she's not mean. She's really nice."

 

He took out a small pocket sized book, entitled Sometimes God has a Kid's Face, and Sister Mary Rose McGeady was the author. "Read this for me," said the officer.

 

The officer left and called the cab for me, and I read the first few pages during the wait.

 

When the cab arrived, my eyes were red from the tears that just flowed out of love for the homeless. I didn't feel homeless, because I walked out of my own home. I felt I deserved it. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't know how to shake off the feeling of anger and bitterness and self-righteousness out of me. 

 

I took the cab and during the drive there, I thought about you, Seth Meyers, and wondered if we would ever meet. Perhaps one day, but I knew I wanted to meet Sister Mary Rose McGeady too. Perhaps, she could save my life.

April 18, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

For the past two days I've been worried, and fearful that I almost ended my life again. I wanted to swallow the Zoloft but I loved my Dad too much to leave him. My Mom left him and I couldn't do the same. I didn't tell my Dad why I was in bed the whole weekend. I didn't write and I didn't talk to anyone, even William, who I would usually call or meet at school. I decided to drop out and I will tell my Dad about the abortion because he has to know and perhaps he can help me get my GED and I can transfer to a community college in Jersey. 

 

I have so much fears inside of me about my life, Seth, that I don't know what to do. I am paralyzed by FEAR, and it is eating me alive. I had a dream last night that I was homeless and my Dad threw me out of the house because he was so disappointed and called me a slut. That he didn't want me to drop out and he was going to force me to go back to high school. Please don't tell my Dad anything if one day I sent these letters and you felt responsible or got scared because I'm a maniac.

 

I promise my love for you is harmless. The way I see you is how I feel about Mountain Turtles, and I view everything you do with loving eyes. You will never disappoint me. You've done well in life, Seth, and even if you somehow became a talk show host, I'd even be more proud, but I can't promise you that I will be alive or be able to watch your show every night.

 

For some reason I feel my life is short and I am so worried about it. I don't know if I was destined to be raped or that God had a plan for me to learn something from it, but I still will never understand why it has to happen to me. 

 

Remember those jars of tears? I don't know if God decides how many jars we will have and how many I will get will determine my strength. I am so fearful and so worried. I am so scared that I won't see tomorrow because of how I want to die today. Some days, the fear gets so painful and I feel like I've killed someone because of the abortion. 

 

I did it because I don't know if I can be strong enough as a Mom. My Mom wasn't strong enough for me and she left. She went out with someone else and left me and my Dad and never came back even once to check how I was doing. I wish you and I met when I was little so you can show me the ropes. What to learn and how to be strong and how to face my own fears, even when I didn't have a Mom during Mother's Day. I remembered at school, everyone had a Mom, and I cried to pieces because no one made my lunch, instead I had a snack bar from my Dad and it was my lunch for a very long time. I was still hungry and I didn't ask for help, but I was so scared and I didn't know what to do. I tried to play outside but it didn't work out. I would stay in and just put my foot under the sun, because perhaps my feet will have a mind of their own and will take me to different places. But, it took me to the bleachers because I was just searching for that love that I never had. I wish you are my big brother, perhaps I would be full of brotherly love that I won't have to search for it.

 

I wish you are here,

WishesOoohWishes (Your little sis, Mary).

 

 

April 19, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I told my Dad and my dream came true. 

 

"You're irresponsible and dumb!" he said to me in the morning after he came home from work. He was tired and he said he needed something to eat, but I told him to sit down and to breathe. When I told him that I needed to take time off from school, his eyes became wide and he looked wild.

 

"You can't! Who would supervise you at home? Are you at least going to work at Taco Bell?" he asked.

 

"No, Dad, I will have to take time off and relax.and heal," I said.

 

"You should stay busy. Heal from what?" he asked me. He had no clue what happened. I began to cry and tears were sobbing out without my knowledge. I didn't  know I was sobbing until I tried to talk and I couldn't. 

 

"I had an abortion, Dad," I told him.

 

His eyes that were wide became moist and turned red and he was speechless. His mouth was open for a little while and I asked him, "Are you okay. Say something...," I said.

 

"That's a crime," said my Dad. "You could have gotten benefits with a child."  His thoughts went directly to benefits and money and it was the last thing I thought he'd say.

 

"What happened?" he asked. 

 

I tried to say "rape," but nothing came out. 

 

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!" he screamed at me.

 

"Jack and I had rough sex behind the bleachers," I answered.

 

"You're dumb!" he said. "That was a dumb move."

 

"I didn't ask for the sex. It just happened," I said in sobs with my upper lips covered in mucuous from the snot out of nose flowing down.

 

"Yes, you did. You did this to yourself," said Dad, the only man who I really cared for. I didn't have anyone else in this world, and my dysfunctional relatives won't be any help, so I slumped down to the floor and cried.

 

"Playing dead now? That was your move when you were little. It won't work this time. This time you have to fix your mistakes. It was a slutty move, and now you're in deep trouble. Where did you do it? The back alley and now you've got an STD?" he asked.

 

I shook my head and I couldn't stop crying. My head felt like it was about to explode. I wanted to ask for help from my Dad because it hurts so much. My soul hurts so much. My heart broke in pieces from Jack and now from the only man who I thought cared for me. 

 

"I didn't know what to do," I said, my voice cracked and my tears kept flowing.

 

I thought he would say something kind, but he said, "You hurt us."

 

My tears felt like a fountain pouring over my cheeks and flowing down my neck leaving drops on the floor. I wanted to end my life again. I didn't feel safe at home. I needed to leave. I wanted to go away, and find someone who would love me. I felt the whole world would hurt me and was against me. I felt a big sword behind me stuck to my back from Jack and his family, and another sword from God. I felt like a victim and I felt betrayed and so broken. What could I possibly do to fix this?

 

"You have to keep working, or you are staying in school," said my Dad.

 

"I can't. I can't show up to school with my mind like this," I said.

 

"You don't have a choice," said Dad. He walked out the door and drove off. He usually goes to sleep after his overnight shift but this time he drove off. I hope he won't be drunk when he comes home.

 

My stomach was still throbbing and I still had the diaper on from the procedure. I walked to T-Bell and talked to my manager and told him that I was ill and won't be able to work and have to quit. He had tears in his eyes because he said that he really enjoyed working with me. He said that he knew T-Bell was sort of a place of comfort for me with free burritos and cheese dips for dinner for me when I had no one to feed me. I told him, "I took out my frustrations here, and it helped. But i have new problems that has to be worked out in other ways."

 

"I understand, Mary," my manager said. I covered my face for a moment and he told me, "You're rehire-able."

 

"That means a lot to me," I replied.

 

 

April 20, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

My Dad threw me out, Seth. I came home with my stomach in a bit of a hurl and went to the bathroom to vomit. I heard a slam at the door and my Dad walked to the back towards my bedroom and screamed at the top of his lungs, "You're stupid! You should have listened to me!" Then he slammed my door when he realized I was in the bathroom and he went to where I was, and there I was lying on the bathroom floor after a few vomits, and a hurting stomach, and my Dad began to cry.

 

"I sacrificed my life for your Mom because she got pregnant. I could have finished college and had a full time career and your Mom could have found a job and helped out, but she chose to ran out on me and you and went with some asshole who had a full time career," he said. "I could have been great, and now my daughter is a failure."

 

"Dad, I tried to help out," I pleaded. "Don't say I'm a failure. I already feel bad enough."

 

I wanted to ask him for mercy and ask him for a pause in life for a pause in blaming me and blaming my whole existence. That it was my fault that my Mom got pregnant and that I was the cause of her failure and his failure. I wished I was never born. I felt worse than garbage and I felt worse and low that I couldn't possibly recover. What should I do, Seth. I am the fault in all of life. I don't want to live.

 

I went to the bedroom and slammed it and locked it. I grabbed my backpack and took a few underwears and my bank card and a sweater, my jacket and my jeans and shirts. I took my medication and the meds for the PID and you, Seth, the journal I have been writing to. My love letters to my hero. You were the last thing I wanted to lose. If I lost you, it would be another tragedy. 

 

In life, you'd probably label me a loser because here I am, 17 and losing my mind, losing my life, and losing my whole existence because I had sex once and got raped once. You would probably call me garbage too, and you might not even appreciate me. That's why I'm not sending you these letters. You might report me, call the police, hurt my reputation and I guess, because you're rich and a celebrity, you'd hurt me too. I wish there were nicer people in the world that I'd start believing in you.

 

I am starting to lose every warmth inside my heart and the bitterness began to hurt me more than what my Dad labelled me. I walked out and left my Dad on the couch asleep. He was drunk and he slobbered and screamed because he was drunk. I didn't want to get hurt and I didn't want to stay in my room and swallow all of my pills. So I walked out.

 

Journal Station wasn't too far and I walked there and took my bank card and paid for the MTA fare for New York. Right now I'm in the train with no plans to go home. I don't know what to do but I know it's 8 at night and I don't know what to do. 

 

Clueless,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 21,2010

 

I've been in the train station for overnight because I don't think I have enough money for a hotel room. I only have $500 in the bank. I will need it for really important things. I went to a bodega on 42nd street and got myself an orange juice. It should last me for a day with all that Vitamin C. I was thinking of getting those packed sandwiches but it cost $4 so I got an M&M and will be eating it when I take my meds. I don't know what to do about that either. I got it precribed to me from school and now that I'm not in school, I'm not sure if I can take my meds anymore. I know I will feel the changes more and will be crying more. I don't know what else to do but to cry again. 

 

I'm sorry if I write that I'm crying again, Seth. I'm not a cry baby but when I'm confused and lost and I am so afraid, I cry. And I have to write about it because if it stays inside my body and my brain, I will go psychotic and try to end my life again. 

 

I think I will use my $500 for a room somewhere and get myself to a job. Maybe I can find a fast food place and work there like I did at T-Bell. I will walk everywhere although I hardly know New York and I don't know what to do now that I'm on my own. I'm so scared that the top of my brain has chills. The back of my neck felt clenched like someone wants to pull me down to the ground and into the Earth six feet under. I am so worried that I am supposed to die right now but I'm beating around the bush and trying to not harm myself because I'm confused and scared.

 

Seth, if you were in front of me, what would you tell me? I am trying to picture you talking to me, advising me and helping me, but I don't know if you'd care. If you were in front of me, Seth, I would want you to tell me that you do care about me and what happens to girls like me. Girls who don't know any better and girls who don't know what to do. 

 

Some people have a compass, but I never got one. Mine went with my Mom, and even my Dad lost his compass too. We both felt lost without her because I felt she was so selfish and she wanted more in life that she was willing to sacrifice us. I wish she took me with her and left Dad on his own and let him get his college degree, then perhaps I could be in a better spot. 

 

Some people have a roof over their heads, but if it wasn't for a cheap rental that my Dad and I lived in, we'd be homeless. Look what happened to me, Seth. Now I'm a statistic, and I'm homeless because my Dad told me I was dumb and a stupid and a loser. I want to go to my grave, Seth, but I'm afraid of death.

 

I'm sitting on the floor of the 42nd street exit in New York and I wanted to see the Rockefeller Plaza and I wanted to see you, but my shirt was wet from my snot and I was sweaty. You wouldn't want to see me. I'm still crying and I am still worried. I hope my own mind won't kill me.

 

Wishing for a better life,

WishesOoohWishes in New York.

 

 

 

April 12, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I went to Planned Parenthood and talked to the nurses and they said I might have a very serious case of PID. They gave me some meds and I took them, but it's gotten worse because I'm pregnant. I'm suicidal. I want to die, Seth, and I don't want to tell anyone in case they will call the police on me. My Dad doesn't know and I have an appointment to abort in a couple of days. I'm staying away from school because the pain in my pelvic is so raw and rough on me that I can't even sit down. 

 

I got PID from Jackass Jack, because I'm not sexually active with anyone, and I suppose he's been sleeping with someone else, and I don't want to know who. I am so terrified right now because I"m worried I'm not going to get shot by an Italian at T-Bell but that my groin will grow bacteria and I will die of an infection (which is more realistic if you ask me). But, in all honesty, I wish Jack will get shot by an Italian in his bathroom on his toilet while taking a dump so all his shit will show. I'm really hurt by him because I wanted true love but I got an STI instead. I wish I can tell you what it feels like, because I can bet that you never knew how it feels to be me. I bet you're the type who gets the girls, but don't let them touch you because you're polished and high class, unlike me who is a daughter of an alcoholic who doesn't even remember my birthday. It was this past Sunday, and I spent it at Planned Parenthood. 

 

If I can express my emotions to you at this time, it would just be tears in a bottle. I read somewhere that God collects tears inside a bottle and that every soul has a jar and if it gets filled up, then He'll start another jar. Somehow that fact hurts me, because I believe it and I know God is watching, but I've screwed myself over and I bet Jack only has a tiny tube instead of a bottle because he's a prick and he doesn't care about me. He hung up and I can't call him anymore because I don't want to get sued by his rich parents for stalking him or harassment. 

 

Seth, I think I might have more than one jar of tears. I'm so worried because how many jars will I have to cry in my life time, if I'm this sick and raped by 17? Do you think I'll have a long life? I know you're not with me, but if you were in front of me, would you hurt yourself? I want to end it all. 

 

I can't handle it, so I'm taking the Zoloft prescribed by the Nurse Practitioner at PP,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 13, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I took a few Zoloft again and it made me feel sort of numb but I had a nice dream.

 

It was Valentine's Day, and I was in this dream in some unknown town in Europe, with you. It was the day of the LOVE CARNIVAL. All streets in the Europe, whether cobbled, pebbled, or paved filled with people, friends and families, especially children with heart pins on their proper attire of their choice to attend this carnival. We saw in social media that Japan and China, then Singapore and Russia were starting to do it too, but in their time zones. 

 
Each person nearby us received a little heart token to meet a real prince or a princess of their choice, with the condition to accept or reject any invitations with the eyes of love, and to honor each person offering their hearts. The scents of my favorite citrus fruits, and jasmine emanating in the air from all of the granulated tea satchets, were sold in every corner of the huge square blocks of the carnival.

 
There were open carriages with plump cupids with wings, holding signs with such beautiful messages, "Love, the non-perishable item!" Or "You are made to last forever!" There were roars from people with each message, and as each carriage passes by, sparkly heart confettis were thrown in the air, and it was a beautiful day.

People were meeting each other, and new friendships were formed. No one was left behind and nothing would harm anything; and Seth Meyers, in this dream, you were the King of the Carnival. There were Love Festivals, or Love Parades all across the world held in the cities of your choice. All heart shaped decors were out of stock, red balloons had a waiting list, and for some reason, there were kiwis everywhere! Everything sweet was at the carnival, and every kind of candy shops had a booth. All types of fairies were there, all kinds of fairy god-mothers, gothic fairies, pretty fairies, or tooth fairies walked around with their wands and their wings, and every woman wore a tiara. There was a violinist playing Vivaldi's Four Season, and later on, a guitarist, strumming Eric Clapton! Amor de machina!!!

 
I witnessed a miracle, because for one day, everyone was in love and everyone was kind to one another. Forgiveness won, and I was laughing and happy. No matter how much pain was done, for one whole day, everything spelled L-O-V-E!!! Of course, the hot air balloon had to be there with little puppies inside, ready for some soul to take them home, and yes, there was a cotton candy machine, complete with a clown who sold each bubblegum flavored cotton candy to someone like me, who was in love with King of the Carnival, Seth Meyers. For some reason, all of my missing pieces inside my heart from Jack's rape were gone, and my dreams came true.

 
Have you ever held a carnival like this before, Seth? Anywhere? Maybe you could do this for Valentine's day, just once a year, for everyone, everywhere!!!! LOVE, LOVE, LOVE!!!

 

I just want you to be on everything!!! With ZOLOFT coating,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 

April 14, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I went, and I aborted. I want to die, because It feels like killing my own heart. I vomited and the nurses held my hand and the nurse practitioner who helped me abort told me that it was risky to have the baby because of the PID. I was severely depressed when the put me in sedation and they said that I came out with tears in my eyes.

 

I couldn't stop crying and the nurses wanted to take me to the emergency room, at a proper hospital, but I told them that I took a few days off from T-Bell and I would have to take a few days off some more, and I couldn't take a month off. If I were to be taken as inpatient, I'd have to be at the hospital for at least a couple of months and William will be telling everyone that I was sick and it was because of Jack. 

 

I called William, but I didn't tell him anything. I told him that I won't graduate this year and I will be dropping out. I won't go to prom and I won't go to any dances and I asked him to pray for me. He cried. He said, "Jack is wrong to you. What happened?" But, I couldn't tell him. William might be the only person I could trust, but I still couldn't tell him. I didn't even tell Dad. He asked me where I was the whole day because I came back in the evening, holding my stomach with a brown bag of meds and I inhaled them immediately, along with the anti-depressants. I wanted to dream like last night again. I wanted to dream that I was in a Love Carnival.

 

I want to dream, all the time. I want to go away. I want to start over, but I didn't know how. 

I needed to find you, and I wanted to go to New York with the bus or take the subway there. It's not far and I heard some people say that you walk to work. Maybe, we can have coffee and I can walk with you on your way to the Rockfeller Plaza and you can give me a pep-talk about boys and why they hurt me.

 

I wish you can tell me why Jack would rape me and not even talk to me afterwards. I wish you can tell me why Jack would hurt my life at all, knowing how much I was crazy about him. I wish you have all of the answers. I wish you were my big brother, maybe my life would have been better.

 

You're my hero, Seth, and my imaginary big brother,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 15, 2010

 
To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers, of Saturday Night Live,

 
I believe, there is always a reason a person is placed in the middle of life. Sometimes, to harness the wind, and at times just to make you smile, even for a speck of time. You make me smile, Seth Meyers, and I thank you. I think I've met plenty people, but for some reason, as anyone could identify with, only a handful comes into your mind. Statistically, it is impossible for anyone to be in anyone's mind at the same time, especially for a poignant purpose in life. This role is not for just anyone to fill, and this person may be an Oscar winner of an actor, but people will know their real characters, it comes with time. I believe in you, Seth Meyers, and your character, although in public view, you could make anyone smile. Congratulations, you are a beautiful comedian and a gorgeous actor. I am extremely proud.

 
If you are wondering who the people who harness the wind for me, are? They are the people who are in my position, the people who love you. They don't know how profound their lives are, because I understand how they admire and their reason for inspiration. I think, sometimes we need a good person to look at, and to remind ourselves, that we are as tasteful, delightful, and beautiful as they are. There is comfort in affinity and also, we sometimes just want to smile, and laugh, OUT LOUD!!! Sometimes, that's all we need.

 
There are others, the ones who just make you cry and fill you with the fuzziest, warmest, and most genuine heart felt emotion to move you. I want to be one of those people, and I wish for others to learn and become that person too, as I am learning myself. I want to make a difference in my own life, and I am happy there were others who did make a difference in my life, without even knowing. There is always a reason for everything, and if there aren't, maybe the reason will show up with time. I hope all those reasons are so good, that everyone could make it in life, just like you, Seth Meyers. Maybe, out of the millions of people who love you, someone will learn to be as profound. Then they will be the inspiration for someone else, as you are to me.

 
I know I want to.

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 16, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I stayed home and Dad was upset because I haven't been to school. I told him that I needed time and space and to take my time to think and he lost it. He threw the gin bottle in the sink and it shattered. He said his life was a piece of shit and he didn't know how to fix it. Dad was afraid that I'm turning into him. He said he wants me to go to college, but I don't want to right now. I'm not in the right mindset.

 

I just aborted and I needed time to think. I'm still bleeding out of my womb.

 

If my Dad threw me out of the house, I'm going to take all of my money in my bank account and go to New York CIty and stay at a shelter somewhere. 

 

My stomach feels like it has a screwdriver stirring my intestines. It hurts and I can't walk. I never knew my first time having sex would be at Breckenridge and I was going to be raped because of it and had to abort. I think those jars of tears are filling up fast, Seth. I have been crying, and it has been really hard on me. I got an anxiety attack and a panic attack because I didn't know how to control my fears. I had a dream that Jack was going to take me to court if I reported him. 

 

You probably think of me as a coward for not reporting, but I wish you knew how rich Jack was compared to me. Plus, I asked for it, and I got rape because I was turning him on. I deserved it, Seth. I'm the fuck up. I took an extra Zoloft tonight, and if I don't wake up, you'll know why. 

 

Thank God I would never send these letters to you. You'd probably report me, too. 

 

I am garbage,

WishesOoohWishes.

April 5, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

It's really more than revulsion of life that I am writing out these letters to you, but for the purpose of healing. Who knew that writing is coping? And to love a writer like you, Sethy, is bliss and candies.

 

I hope you realize the power of your influence on my heart, because you've moved my life from the opprobrium to subtle glory. It is not about my faulty ideals anymore, it is more of release to gain strength, because somehow, I can empty out all of those bad horoscope readings on my past and replace it with some good astrology.

 
There is more depth to me now, because after I release all of my angers on paper about my misfortunes, I feel the energies of those who've experienced similar dramas. It's all there, and I have to just take those energies out to replace them with some form of wisdom of profound truth, from what I've learned through my own disgraces. I am so grateful you are not mad at me, otherwise I would feel sad about my life, if I my heart throb is actually disgusted by me. You are so patient Seth Meyers, and the more I write to you, the more I realize you are forever gorgeous and I am forever in love with you.

 

Don't worry about what others will think about you because some high school kid is nuts about you, when I'm underage and you're over the thirties hump. I'm just an old soul and I feel like I've known you all of my life. I used to think I you look like an old neighbor names Udi, but he's long gone and married now and he's nothing like you.

 

I feel better today but there are still bouts of anger and it hurts me. I still have thoughts of the bleachers and my Dad is still not here and Brenda sometimes comes around. But, everything feels fleeting. Everything, even life. I feel like my life will end early, because at this rate, after the rape and the episode at Planned Parenthood, I'm going to be shot somehow at T-Bell by an Italian. Don't get mad at me because of these morbid thoughts, because what kind of positive moments in life have I had lately? None.

 

In pain, truthfully,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 6, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night LIve,

 

I want to be like William, minus the facial hair and chubby body. He told me today that Seth, you're his hero too, and I immediately love him as a brother. I gave him a hug and told him that he's my friend for life.  He then told me about this group that he saw my Dad's friend, Sam, is in, The Knights of the Columbus. William told me that if I needed his help and Sam's help, to come to him, and to ask him for help. 

 

I don't want to tell anyone about the assault and as a matter of fact, Jack, is no in my mind unless I get symptoms of my depression again. It hurts when I get it because I can't stop crying and I hurl and vomit. I don't tell anyone and I try to slice my wrist with my nails, but we all know that's not real, so I just play it cool and let it go. I don't let anyone tell me what to do anymore. I don't trust anyone and even my Dad doesn't care. I have to make sure rent is paid and we have a roof over our head, because Dad hasn't been around lately and neither has Brenda. I'm worried something is wrong and he's going to be depressed and lose his job this time. I don't want to be homeless.

 

I tried to speak to India, the girl who told me about Jack and how she knew. I tried to ask a couple of people and I called Mabel, to see if she'd know. I still hate all the princesses of my high school. They have everything and I work at T-Bell. I was dumped by Jack and those girls are virgins and they've never even been kissed. 

 

Hindsight, I regret it all, Sethy. I regret wanting to be kissed by Jack and wanting to sleep with him. I regret wanting to have sex with him, and wanting to be a part of his life. I regret everything. Sometimes the sorrow is so full over my head that I can't handle it. 

 

I don't know India's number and I don't know if anyone will talk to me about Jack. I can't call Mabel, she'll tell my homeroom teacher or the principal and I'll get Jacked. No pun intended.

 

Lost for words,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 7, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I thought about the millionaires of the world, and how satisfied they are with their lives, with a degree or without a degree. Are they satisfied with who they are and what they've done, especially after their pursuits of happiness? Do they all have true love?

 

Have they made themselves, whom they become in all honesty? Have they fumbled the ways of life, on the road to success? Were they millionaires by birth? The truth is, I am the millionaire of love, and I suppose that love was what I want to also seek, but I'm a poor woman in faith. I have none, and i don't think I will survive this life.

 

Maybe because my dream, hopes, and its level of success does not have a monetary value, because it is priceless in comparison to ambitious money. It is measured and based on my personal desires of having a family, beautiful career, and lasting friendships. Does this ambition come with a picket fence with a rose garden and a Mercedes Benz? Why not? Why not go beyond and reach the sky?

 

Besides, this scale is an innate gift, the one my Dad told me to develop in life.  Yes, I think it could be a measure of the education I can gain, or naturally and through nurture. This is why going to school is best for me, and I am happy to know I am not the only one with this desire, hope, or measurable scales of ambition. But, with Jack in high school....education is a misfortune at this time, Seth.

 

The other girls at school have some form of a walnut like brain inside their psyche, but me...I'm just a walnut. They may not be a pistachio like me, but they have the same level of peanuty flavor, with a slightly salty tasty to them. Some people have this flavor of opinions from that walnut of a brain they have, so raw that's perfectly tasty, and noticeably delicious to its element. It is unmistakably them, and it is their signature taste, with a delicious presentation for accompaniment. They have someone who cares for them. My life is non-existent to a lot of people, and the only person who said he cared was William and The Planned Parenthood nurses. I'm just a plain nut, and the pistachio dream is unreal, Sethy. 

 

I want to be this exceptionally rare beauty, until the world is enchanted through me. This desire only comes out when I'm writing to you, because in reality, I am a huge mess and I'm going nuts.

 

Wondered if you wrote love notes in class,

WishesOoohWishes ------ß--@

 

 

April 8, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I called Jack. He hung up. I vomited and Dad heard me. Surprisingly he was home and it seems like he was having a serious talk with Brenda. I know Dad is supposed to be sober now, but I've seen him and Brenda having a couple of beers sometimes, and I don't write down when, but I know that's not right. But, who am I to tell him what to do? I'm sick myself.

 

Jack was all inside my chest today, and school was a Jackass, no pun intended. I'm tired of going there and I want to leave the planet. I don't want to stay at school, and I want to search for you. I want to visit you at the Rockefeller Plaza and meet you in person and kiss you on your lips, even if you're sick. I won't tell anyone if you reject me, even. That's how crazy I am about you. I know your girlfriend is beautiful and I predict you will have three kids, two boys and a girl. It's 2010 now, and I'm not sure how long until you're going to get hitched and make babies, but I'm going to make a go at it. I don't know what to do with my rape trauma. Everyday it is worse. I vomit all the time and I'm not eating. I don't want to, and I don't want to go back to the Planned Parenthood, they'll just call my counselour.

 

I'm having a nervous breakdown I think, is that possible at 17? I'm not sure if this is what it is called? Is my nerves taking the best of me and me crying in a fetal position in the girl's bathroom a nervous breakdown? Because that was all day today at school, and I escaped again. I ran out of the school double doors and I didn't look back. That place is hell on Earth. I shouldn't have gone. I want to leave!

 

Planning to drop out,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 

April 9, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

If I was an "I Love you," in bubble letters, I would be the colors of Royal Blue Letters with hearts all across the words Love. It symbolizes my royal heart of a princess and the depth of love all throughout the color lines. William asked me why I wanted to date Jack or to have a relationship with him.  My answer is because baby lobsters can only mate once when it grows up, so it better have the perfect match.

 

I wish people could just see how I love them, and at times they probably won't understand why I love the way I love. But, love is love and people are stupid.

 

Some people want me to love them a certain way, and I would try to do so, but the fact is, I've gone through what I call, …shit hole.

 

For example: there were letters I wrote to you, Seth, and it was all angry words. All SHH8T this, and all F6%! That…but they never made it in print, because I wanted to say the things I say without restrictions. Then I realized, its just like the way people want me to love them a certain way, and I don't understand. If we were to meet, I know you would want me to write nice things about people, not shit this and shit that because I'll get sued and you'll get sued for teaching me flagrant things. But, I'm in a shit hole. So I'm writing shit-holish things.

 

So, the stresses comes out and the frustration level rose to headache level. I just wish I could control every thing to minty lavender and happy basil all the time., when I'm writing to you, but I was so hurt that I could not understand my own love for you. I just kept writing and writing verbage I know you wouldn't like. As all writers know, it was okay and it will be edited out later, but with me, because I'm not a writer, I'm writing these shit down and I don't care.

 

It isn't so perfect with the ways of my life, Seth. I hope you don't care about my deep emotional traumas.  I felt it was always my fault, these overwhelming emotions, because I was the cause of the rape and Jack was just following his nerves. 

 

I want to make it stop, this emotions and headaches, to leave lonely planet to make the heartaches stop. I wish you are here to comfort me, and I wish you are my neighbor. Then the cries ceases to tear, and my heart heals itself to love.

 

I was just trying to heal and love, but there were cacophonies and commotions in the background ruining moments with or without Diet Coke.  I wish I could explain this further, but my heart is breaking and I wish I have some people back in my life again.

 

Unconditionally a loving fan,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 

April 10, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

My Dad has a rough night, and he said he broke it off with Brenda because his AA Group noticed he's been doing wrong and drinking after work.  Sam came by and told us to seek a family counselour. He said he's sober now and he's doing good with The Knights of the Columbus and asked my Dad to join. My Dad said, "What a be a crazy prick with pins on their shirts? No, thanks, bud. I gotta go to AA on my own."

 

I don't blame him, and I don't blame Sam either. I wanted to tell William to stop telling Sam what to do because I know why William tells Sam to help out, it's because William is afraid I'm going to drop out and become a homeless teen. I'm not going that route. I"m going to see if I can do better. I'm turning this shit around. I'm tougher than they think. 

 

I'm trying to find out what I can do with myself. I'm really messed up, Seth. My headaches are monstrous and I'm not on the pill. I'm worried I really am pregnant. I'm hoping my period stays regular. I haven't checked. If I get pregnant, I'm not sure what to do with myself. I'm sick to my stomach and all I can think about is being with Jack and being in a marriage with him and everything is perfect and we have a career and a dog and two kids. I'm psycho I think. I'm thinking of how perfect life would be with him, when in reality is that Jack raped me.

 

I'm going to stop and just watch SNL. I will write tomorrow or in a day or so. I'm so sick, I can't write.

 

I'm delusional and I feel sick,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

March 30, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I feel better now. I felt so alone last night and I wanted to end my life, but I thought of all the people who would show up at my funeral and it was even more depressing that I started laughing. It would be just a man on a piano and my Dad, singing "I will never love again," and who knows...maybe William or Mabel might come but knowing their background, their parents won't let them go to a funeral at their age.

I thought of the things inside my heart and the potential I possess, and I wonder what it would amount to if I only applied myself. I work at T-Bell very well but I don't do well under pressure at school. I think I'm Jack crazy but isn't that normal?

 

I wanted to run away last night and to come see you in New York, and to just stop school, stop work, and stop living in this house and live on my own and find my dream. What is my dream, and even if I know, I don't know if I would be able to make it. I want to see if I would, but I don't even know what I want. At least you knew about what you want out of life at an early age, but I don't. I just know I want to be loved and to have true love, and someone who holds me close and never let go. Does everyone know what they want at 16 years old?

 

I observe the people around me and most adults are married, but my Dad isn't. It troubles me. He had problems and both of my parents had problems, and now I have problems. I think that's why I wanted to end it all, but I won't. I promise. I feel like my life is a long shot to success. I don't know what to do.

 

I'm going to think of a way out,

WishesOoohWishes

 

March 31, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I wish everyone are pomegranates, because it's one of my favorite fruits. Sometimes people are not as sweet as they seem to be. Who are they? It is okay to be smart, but to become so ruthless, it all seems so worthless. Jack for instance. I am escaping my thoughts of him and pretending I'm next to you, eating a pomegranate and drinking and Izze.

 

I think you need to write a book, Seth. I want happy, for everybody, especially me! You can describe what type of fruit you are and I will think of you as the sweetest kinds. I need to believe that people are good, and some are inspirational, that's why I look up to you and love seeing you on television. I escape through you. Other stars are okay and I see a lot of talents, that some give their lives to reach it, but sometimes people lose their way, and maybe that's where the bitterness comes from. Maybe they are all bitter to begin with because someone was mean to them, the way Jack was mean to me.

 

I am so happy you gave your life to make people laugh, because happiness helps everyone at any levels in life. You help me to release several moments to smile and laugh out loud in a day, and that could increase the life expectancy for anybody. This is how I think you saved me. Can you save my life some more and write a book to love me back?

 

In your book, you should describe if you were ever the long shot. The person without a chance for the one dream he has, because as a woman, my gender alone could reduce my chance in life. But this is 2010, and I want to read a book that makes me laugh, especially because there were probably moments of "long-shots" in your life, which could empower me.

 

What was it that made the difference in your life? Who is your mentor? Was there a blind side? How did you move your life from a kid to a man?

Was there an "I don't know," or an "I don't care," or an "I miss you" in your life? How many defining moments do you remember? Do you listen to every voice you hear? Or do you take every chance you got, because you know how to make something out of nothing. Where do you shop? What do you eat? I LOVE POMEGRANATES!!

 

Do you know love when you see it? How do you love? Have you ever had to admit you've lost something so dear? How much did you give up? Are there a bunch of words you hate? What's your anger language? What's your habitual sin? How did you break your sins apart and tear down its walls? How do you believe in yourself, in this world when sometimes long-shots like me live in uncertainties.

What if there is construction in life, and all the lanes are closed and you will be fined if you stop? What could people do to succeed when the talent is there, but the opportunity is scarce and barren. Who do you listen to?

 

I suppose I want to know because I am the long shot, and I want to believe. I look up to heaven, but there are times when evidence is something I still need to feel. We can be a bunch of long shots in life, but some are just so inspirational and joyful that everyone just want to feel their hearts, and be inspired. You maybe that person for me, the inspiration, and I think you made me laugh so much that you probably increased my life expectancy for another 100 years. You are so nice! But, I know that long-shots are sometimes the best people in life, because they are the heart felt surprise you'll find unforgettable.

 

Could you write a book for me? Think of it as a science project!
 
WishesOoohWishes

 

April 1, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

I finally came back to school. It's a Wednesday, the day when the Earth moves under my feet every time. Do you remember that song, Seth? I found out from Brenda, because she was born in 1980. I was born in 1994 and I actually feel so much older than 16. It feels surreal to have had so much happened to you at such a young age, but that's what Chlamydia does to people, I guess.

 

I'm okay for now. I don't want to end my life because I want to talk to Jack still and I don't want my Dad to be alone. I know he has Brenda but I don't want him to relapse back to alcoholism.

 

I took the meds Jasmine gave me and I spoke to my counselor and they both said something similar. Study. That's all they said. They told me the only way out was through education and it gives opportunities. I'm shit out of luck, Seth. I'm failing every class I am taking. Math is crap to me, and so is English and History. Who cares what people did in the past? I want to get on out of the past of my life, and I damn well don't want to know theirs.

 

The only thing I liked was "Honesty is the best policy," by Abraham Lincoln. Did he think that up all by himself, you think, Seth? There aren't a lot of people back then when he was alive was there? They're all probably enslaved or in the army. At least that's what William told me.

 

I talked to William at school today and talked to him about PP and suicide. He was flabbergasted. I love that word "Flabbergasted." It feels like a fart that just escaped out of your butt. But yeah, William was flabbergasted. He told me about being in the dark. No shit, I was in the dark and I didn't need William to tell me but he did anyway.

 

William told me that when a person is in the dark, that's all they can see and they can't see a way out. I sometimes don't know if William is smart or not because what he told me was obvious to anyone. But anyway, he said something about how everything you do is wrong and the only thing that can take out of the dark is the light. Again....I'm not sure if William should solve anyone's problems anytime soon, but it was good to know that he was being obvious. I think it does help me a little. I mean....I want to see the light too, because apparently I'm darkness, and I think William is trying to say that he is the light to my darkness. I nodded the whole time, but my heart and mind was confused because I don't know what he's alluding to. No one ever cared to say these things, but now that someone did, I'm not all that impressed.

 

 
What light was I missing, Seth? Should I start reading self help books and such? Why??? I am going to take meds and go to school and try things out for myself. I'm going to wing it. I don't want to tell anyone I'm taking meds and I'm only taking them because my counselor prescribed them to me after my Dad told that he wants me on them when Mom left. I'm screwed up, Seth. I don't even know how to begin to introduce myself to you when we meet.

 

I hope we will meet,

WishesOoohWishes

 

April 2, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I couldn't stop crying this morning. I don't know why. I can't write to you today, Seth. I just cried and cried as if a fountain of tears burst from the back of my brains and out of my eyes. My mind was full of the visions of the rough sex that happened under the bleachers with Jack. I'm scared.

 

I want to tell Dad but he would be angry and I know he would hurt Jack. I know Jack will get shot and my Dad will go to jail. I didn't tell William or Mabel. I saw them at school, but I kept quiet. I did not look anyone in the eyes. The kids at school stared at me, but I dodged them. I saw them whisper but I stopped caring. I know they would call me names like 'slut,' or 'whore.' I know they all laugh at me, but I'm going to be tough and still keep going.

 

I'm worried about my heart, however. It feels broken and I never had a broken heart before. Jack is my first everything. My first kiss, my first boyfriend, and the sad thing is....I know I am probably the last thing in his mind. He's the first thing in my heart and mind when I come to school, but I know I mean nothing to him. It hurts that I gave my all to someone who would never care for me. Are adults the same, Seth? They must be smarter right?

 

William tried to find me when I was walking home. He said he met my Dad's friend from his Knights of the Columbus group. He said that they are becoming liberal. I don't know anything about them. I wanted to slap him. I want him to stop talking to me. I hate his talks about Knights of the Columbus and the light, and good side of life, and how he wants me to do good. No one is good. I thought Jack was good, but it's not true. I think William is in some kind of cult or something. He's crazy. He told me that I have to keep up with my meds and counseling, but I think he's the one that's getting worse. Who is he to judge me?

 

Mabel is a bitch. She has everything. She has a car, a good home, she's pretty and she doesn't have to work for a living to make ends meet. I have to pay the rent and the bills, and my money from T-Bell goes to Dad and we pool them to make sure we have a place to live. Mabel doesn't have to worry about that. She's a bitch.
  

I'm really hating them, those perfect people. I'm really starting to see the light that William talked about. The light shows me that everything is bullshit. This life is bullshit, and the thing that happened to me under the bleachers is bullshit. I'm going to just try to solve things with my counselor. Then take my meds. That's all I need.

 

I'm superwoman,

WishesOoohWishes